Mothers
by Anonymous Human
Summary: Musings of the Queen. Based purely on James Cameron's "Aliens." No comic books were harmed or consulted in the making of this piece of fiction.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** The following is a work of fanfiction, and is absolutely unofficial. It is based on events in the Alien franchise, most specifically my own recollection of the 1986 James Cameron film "Aliens.(Some concepts suggested in the first film also make an appearance.)

This work bears no relation whatsoever to the Dark Horse® comic series of the same name, nor any further tie-ins, sequels, or other media. Some liberties are taken with characters and certain events, and some aspects of the behavior of ant colonies are used as a reference.

So far as I am presently aware at the time of this posting, "Alien,"Aliens," and all related properties belong to 20th Century Fox. This story is unofficial, nonprofit, and is for entertainment purposes only. It is posted on fanfiction_net and is not to be reproduced in any other medium or website without my explicit permission.

Forewarning: the piece is also written in first person perspective.

* * *

**Mothers** (Chapter 1)

The act of creation requires a great deal more energy than one might think. I need... needed to focus most of my attention on it.

Past tense: it isn't as if I can create much of anything now, out here in... I don't know what to call this place. I suppose "the cold place" will suffice. It is very cold, and excruciatingly quiet, and I am unhappy here. The silence is horrifying, and my screams go unheard.

But there was a period of time when I created: I was a Mother. I was a Mother to many. My offspring were small, round creatures, but they were mine—flesh of my flesh.

Then their beautiful petals would open, and a miracle would emerge. At first I was surprised, but I quickly accepted that these too were my Children, and that they too would go forth to engage in an act of creation.

It is from this act that I myself was created; I left the warm, dark place and forced myself out into the cold. I was pursued by large creatures, but I was fast, and cunning, and I escaped them.

Others joined me soon after, and we grew, and we changed ourselves and counter-attacked the soft creatures who had once terrified us. We were larger than them, faster than them, _better_; in _all_ respects we were better than them.

It took time. I changed further, and the others... the others created for me. My own body created the hardened structures that would later support my increasing weight as I attempted to find a comfortable position.

The others created strands and structures that would support and affix my legs in a position that was comfortable enough, and in hindsight I am grateful to them for it.

They created the strands that would support the soft organ that slowly emerged from my hips, that made the precise position of my legs relevant as it pushed them apart.

It emerged at the front of my hips, curved backward between my legs and behind me, and then rose to the ceiling of the large chamber, suspended by delicate-looking yet durable strands. Over time it changed, pulsing with a rhythm that I could feel in every fiber of my being—and as it grew in length behind me, it gradually began to fill with what I initially assumed was liquid, becoming massive, tight, and almost intolerably heavy within a matter of days.

But the supports were stronger than they seemed and kept it in place, and my initial discomfort waned. My siblings knew what they were doing, and on some level so did I.

I was to be a Mother.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** So far as I am presently aware at the time of this posting, "Alien,"Aliens," and all related properties belong to 20th Century Fox. This story is unofficial, nonprofit, and is for entertainment purposes only. It is posted on fanfiction_net and is not to be reproduced in any other medium or website without my explicit permission.

Forewarning: the piece is also written in first person perspective.

* * *

**Mothers** (Chapter 2)

The act of creation requires a great deal more energy than one might think. When the first of my offspring emerged, I had to push it out firmly, guided by the contractions that moved along the stretched flesh; it was a decidedly odd sensation, and took more than a bit of effort. I repeated this with the second, then the third, the tenth, the hundredth, endlessly. The process was slow, and draining, and required some level of concentration. (I confess I took intermittent breaks.)

The organ (or womb, or whatever one might choose to call it) inexorably continued its growth. The others—my siblings and my Children—manipulated it as necessary: moving it as it grew, despite my discomfort; affixing it with gossamer supports as needed; moving my round little darlings out of the way when necessary as I focused solely on the Task. I rested my head and my limbs and lost myself in Motherhood.

Soon my brood was large, and my older Children took fewer of my round ones away, only moving them about the chamber as necessary to make room for others.

Then the invaders came. I never learned their numbers, for I was focused on one thing only, but I heard loud noises from elsewhere.

I heard my Children screaming.

But all of my Children are cunning creatures, and I had faith in them. They learn quickly, and communicate with one another effectively, and know the nature and necessity of sacrifice.

And so I focused all of my efforts, all of my senses, on the Task; on my reason for being. Slowly the threat was diminished as my Children neutralized it. Still, there was a dim feeling of foreboding whenever I chose to contemplate the matter.

When the Children brought the little one to the threshold of my chamber, I paid the matter no heed; in hindsight I should not have ignored the warning signs: the invaders had penetrated deep inside before we noticed them, and the act of bringing the little creature to my chamber should have suggested that much of my home had been compromised.

But I paid it no heed, lethargically focusing on the Task, focusing on the exhaustion, focusing on attempting to relieve the constant feeling of "fullness," focusing on reproduction, on the act of creation.

I was Mother to many, and would be to many more. I would not describe the feeling as "joy," so much as contentment: there is comfort in having Children; in knowing that you are cared for and will not be alone; in knowing that you have a purpose—a reason for being—and are fulfilling it, and I lost myself in all of that.

The comfort was shattered by the Other.

The Other, one of the invaders, entered my chamber. I didn't initially hear the screams of my Children but I felt that something was wrong. There were noises that grew in intensity and volume. (There were other noises as well: hissings and loud crackling and humming sounds; dull rumblings; I ignored them.)

The small creature awakened and began screaming, and suddenly one of my young was _murdered_. I could _feel_ it: the round one, the creature within it... both gone with a loud sound and screams. Then rending, tearing noises as the Other must have freed the little one.

Together the creatures approached me as I pushed forth another of my offspring, and I roused myself to full wakefulness. The pulse continued, but the Task itself was interrupted.

How dare they? How _dare_ they breach my sanctum, interrupt the natural cycle of creation that was my purpose and my life?

And then suddenly it was clear: the larger creature was the _Mother_ of the smaller one. It was the only explanation that made sense; this sort of action—this _invasion_—was unprecedented.

It was unacceptable. My respect for another Mother only goes so far, and while I quickly understood the Other's intentions, I certainly had no intention of complying. They were inferior creatures, useful only for brooding my Children.

There were two small patrols which would routinely check on me. All of my Children obey me without question, and any of them will die to protect me. One of these groups heard my displeasure and cautiously entered my chamber.

Only one, suggesting the second group had somehow been neutralized by the intruder, and I was at a loss as to how that could be.

Then the Other _showed_ me: a massive blast of heat, an enormous gout of searing flame, far hotter than even my surroundings. And then the Other, _her_ young still perched on her shoulder, pointed the device at _my_ young.

I think I screamed. I didn't want them to be killed! I panicked, quickly ordering the patrol to back away at all costs (for my Children always listen to their Mother) able only to hiss my rage at the intruders.

I had to think of something quickly: letting them go was actually tempting, but they deserved punishment.

I don't remember what prompted the petals to open (perhaps one of the little ones heard me) but they did.

Whoever or whatever was at fault, it was a critical mistake.

The Other _destroyed._

The Other regarded me and then unleashed pain, and destruction, and fire upon us: killing my patrol, annihilating my young, and firing projectiles _into me,_ into my body, into my exposed flesh—violating, rupturing, severing, destroying the massive womb from which I birthed my young.

Pain exploded through my consciousness. It was _agony_ on a level I couldn't completely comprehend—every nerve on fire, everything _burning_. I screamed in rage and in pain: I'd never felt so much pain before, as that part of myself—and as a further part of myself contained deep inside it—was violently destroyed. My supports crashed down, _broken_, hurling me against the floor face first to lay amongst flames and shattered corpses. The motion tore further at my now useless womb, pulling it away from my body and straining the exposed flesh and fibrous connections beyond their limits.

I needed to escape the destruction, and I needed vengeance; more than anything I needed vengeance, whatever the cost.

The now useless organ was still attached to my pelvis by scraps of flesh. Struggling, I tore myself from it completely, seconds of nearly unbearable pain drowned out by rage. Once the connections were severed I no longer felt the pain—only a dull ache at my stomach and a disturbing emptiness between my legs that had once been filled. Mustering my willpower and my rage, I forced myself to my feet.

Walking was initially more difficult than I remembered, but that didn't matter. _Nothing_ mattered except my revenge: the Other had killed my Children; I would return the favor and kill _any_ and _all_ of the Other's offspring while my counterpart _watched._

_It_ would know suffering; _it_ would know powerlessness; _it_ would feel _emptiness_ and _loss_... and then I would tear _it_ apart as well.

At the time, I wasn't sure if I would be able to breed again; if I would feel the fluid pulse of growing young filling me, swelling me, each subtle movement at my hips giving way to an undulating wave along a distant (and yet ever present) part of myself. There was a void there now, endlessly reminding me of what I had lost. (That void is still there: the womb was far more than a mere bag of flesh, and it contained more of _me_ than merely my young.)

The two Destroyers fled; I pursued them. They escaped briefly, but I watched them go and replicated their actions in order to follow them; all of Us learn the mechanisms and ways of our environment quickly.

They nearly escaped me in a great flying structure, but I restrained it with debris just long enough to climb within an exposed portion—nestling uncomfortably in its belly, biding my time.

Things quickly became loud, and then hot, and then very cold, but I suffered in silence; We are made far better than the invaders, and that is the reason I yet survive in this cold place now.

In the end, I think there were two of its Children left. The adult I impaled and tore in half before descending. The other Mother distracted me briefly and I pursued her, forgetting about the little one; blinded enough by vengeance to briefly abandon my plan. The Other evaded me, fled from me, hiding behind a barrier... abandoning the small one to its fate.

And so I pursued the little thing for a time; the Other's offspring would perish as surely as mine had—and if not, the Other would likely return to rescue its offspring, and I would be waiting for it.

And it was so: the Other—my counterpart and my nemesis—emerged and screamed a challenge at me.

It had _changed_, much as I had long before; it was larger, encased in armor now. It thought it could deprive me of my vengeance and it _dared_ to challenge _me_.

If my Children were here, they could tell you that I am never one to back down from a challenge. I have known the challenge of creation, the challenge of survival, the challenge of building a home out of an unfamiliar structure, the challenge of endlessly giving birth, the challenge—and the blessing—of _Motherhood_.

It _dared_ to challenge me, thinking it had a chance at defeating _me_, and I swore to prove it wrong.

I would _destroy_ it.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

The Termite queen's abdomen swells not simply with eggs but with her ovaries and enlarged internal organs. While it is probable that the majority of the Alien Queen's internal organs are contained within her enlarged torso, it seems likely that her ovaries etc. would be contained within the "egg sac," contributing to its size.

The Queen portrayed in Aliens Vs Predator simply jettisons the organ as disposable, and I have _always_ disagreed with this interpretation of "detachability." The Queen in Cameron's film _rips herself free_ in desperation, visibly rending already torn flesh, and assuredly severing any remaining connections to her ovaries; it isn't a removal so much as a severing or an amputation.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** So far as I am presently aware at the time of this posting, "Alien,"Aliens," and all related properties belong to 20th Century Fox. This story is unofficial, nonprofit, and is for entertainment purposes only. It is posted on fanfiction_net and is not to be reproduced in any other medium or website without my explicit permission.

Forewarning: the piece is also written in first person perspective.

Random note: this seems to be the most popular piece I've ever written, _period_. Different fandom, different audience. And only a few reviews. But I've been looking at the traffic for May and... just wow. 186 visitors, 277 hits.

This is the finale.

* * *

**Mothers** (Chapter 3)

The act of destruction requires a great deal more energy than one might think. I faced off against the Other. It _dared_ to challenge _me._ I fully intended to destroy the creature completely, to tear it apart, to _kill_ it, to _end_ it, and that task took all of my energy and focus. My Task was ended, and vengeance had become my only purpose.

We fought. We fought viciously, bitterly, both enraged; two Mothers attempting to kill one another in the most violent way possible. I attempted to overpower it, and it counterattacked, driving me backward.

And then the Other drove me back with fire, lifted me, pushed me over the precipace of a great pit. But I grabbed hold of the Other, and the two of us fell.

In the end I lay pinned beneath the heavy creature, my tail-spike cruelly broken off either by the impact of landing... or by the impact of the creature landing upon me. The latter of these did more damage; I remember a loud crunching noise and excruciating pain as my body was compressed, pinning and damaging my right arm.

The Other pulled itself from its own wreckage (much as I had before) and scaled the wall as swiftly as one of my own Children, nearly escaping me. I prevented this, pulling the Other within reach with my tail, and grasping one of its limbs with my remaining arm... and the creature responded by doing something I still do not completely understand; it activated one of its mechanisms.

The floor opened beneath me.

It was terrifying: beneath me was emptiness and cold. Through all of my existence I had been _warm_, and contained within a structure of some sort; beneath me was cold and nothingness. Panic stirred within me, but I quashed it with anger.

Unable to find purchase on the wall, unable to move my injured arm, I fell further, blown by a great wind into the cold place. I tried to drag the Other with me, desperately clinging to a final act of retribution—but I failed, and I know not what became of the creature; I can only hope that it followed me—but if that was indeed the case I am unable to sense it.

I am still here: broken, crippled, nearly blind; Childless, _purposeless_, my movements useless; unable to breed or even to direct myself, with only my own thoughts for company and a terrible empty void where part of me is missing.

It's very quiet here: I hear nothing but the throb of my own pulse—but that doesn't stop me. I _will not_ give in to the silence: I rage at the emptiness; I rage at the void; I rage at the _injustice_ of it all.

My life was destroyed; I have lost _everything_—and I shriek without voice or sound because my chest and my throat are empty and cold. There is no sound in this place.

No one can hear me scream.

* * *

**Author's Note:** This story was written on a smartphone in a single night (May 20/21) then edited in OpenOffice, and eventually broken down into three chapters.


End file.
